


Worst Birthday Ever

by lightsabove



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsabove/pseuds/lightsabove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meeting a stranger in the park opens up your eyes to try new things, but then your past comes in and screws things up. Is it really worth all the trouble?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ONE

It was the worst 27th birthday in the history of the world. You thought last year’s debacle was bad, now this? Having to get a restraining order on your crazy ex-husband was bad enough, but now he was free to be as close to you as he wanted! At least your marriage was official annulled – it was a blessing that it was as easy as it was. After two months of wedded misery, you had to fight your way out the door and into court.

Now, a year later, he was free to do as he pleased, because of anger management classes and therapy. Probation wasn’t going to stop him from finding your small studio apartment in another country and using his words to hurt you like before. After three days of anxiously waiting for him to knock on your door, you figure it was safe to spend time outside for your birthday. Dressing in simple capris jeans and a yellow button up t-shirt, you take a deep breath as you pull on your trainers and head out the door.

Looking over your shoulder at every turn, you try your best not to look like the world was about to fall on your head – because it wasn’t. You were a long ways from home, and it was going to be fine. Right? Finally entering the calming park a few blocks from your flat, you make your way through the small crowd, keeping your head down and your hair in your face. No need for someone to notice you. Taking a quick peak behind you, you let yourself through an overgrown area of the park.

The grass was halfway to your knees, and the trees looked like they had been left on their own for a long time. You had found this a few weeks ago, on your first day in London. There was a wooden bench a few paces away, holding rather steady for being unused. You feel tension roll of your shoulders as you move around a tree to your private bench, only to tense up at the sight of a tall, lanky man sitting with his hands in his curly hair. You stare at him for a long time, the afternoon sun hot on your forehead. He looks up, finally noticing you, and you let out a squeak. You grip the shoulder strap of your bag tightly in your hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there…” he muttered sheepishly, scooting to one side to make room for you. “I… this is a nice place to privacy, isn’t it?” You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. He’s attractive – dark curls messy on his head, sunglasses over his eyes, and a simple white t-shirt and jeans adorned a sinewy body.

“Y-yes,” you stutter. Your body is frozen, a typical reaction to men you don’t know. Gritting your teeth, you took a breath and cautiously step to the bench. There is no reason to be afraid of this man – your therapist has told you take little steps at being more interactive with men. “I usually come her for the same reason.”

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks, making a move to stand up. You automatically put out a hand and put a hand on his arm, your fingers curling around a muscled bicep.

“No! No, if you want to sit, you can,” you say guardedly. He nods and keeps to his side of the bench – maybe he notices your tension. You sit in silence for a while, focusing on keeping your breathing normal. Anxiety was flooding your veins, and your hands were aching from holding the shoulder strap so tightly.

“Are you okay?”

You jump at his deep voice. You turn to him, watching as he pulls his glasses off his face, looking at you through concerned eyes. You blink, lost for a moment in the swirling colors looking at your face.

“Y-yes, of course, w-why do you ask?” you say, trying to sound nonchalant, but immediately knowing it wasn’t working. “Oh, who am I kidding, this is the worst birthday I’ve ever had.” You suddenly slouch back, your head falling back so you can look up at the sky. “My crazy ex-husband is free to come find me whenever he pleases, my parents won’t talk to me because of what he’s told them, and I have no idea where anything is here besides this park and the market down the street. The only income I have is from my website, but that’s not going to last much longer.”

“Sounds like a bad day so far,” he replies with a sympathetic smile. You look over at him, sitting up straight again. He looks so familiar, but it could be just wishful thinking.

“Why are you here?” you ask curiously, turning a bit on the bench to face him.

“Moment of peace. This is the first afternoon and evening where I have nothing to do in a long time, but I couldn’t just sit in my flat,” he admits, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He looks down at his hands, playing with the pair of sunglasses. You let a small smile turn the corners of your lips.

“Ah, you shouldn’t be talking to strangers, my dear.”

The smile is gone, and you turn your head toward that awful voice. To any other person, it sounded reassuring and peaceful, but to you it was just the calm before the storm. Jackson Crate was leaning against the tree next to the bench. The man beside you eyed him, his body tense.

“Jackson, you need to stay away from me,” you say, your jaw clenched tightly. Your hands are again clutching your shoulder bag strap, and you unconsciously slide closer to the man at your side.

“Come on, I’m good now!” he says with a chuckle and throwing up his hands. They fell back to his side as he walked toward the two on the bench. “Now, why don’t you show me to your place? I feel like we haven’t seen each other in such a long time.”

“I don’t think so,” you say, finally gathering the courage to stand up. You do so, and find yourself toe to toe with the man who had made your life hell for two months straight. You tilt your head back enough to look up at his eyes, your face showing your determination. He smiles easily down at you.

“We never had time to talk through things,” he said softly, moving his hands to your elbows. He squeezes tightly, and you try to pull away. You let out a sound as he squeezes tighter and starts to drag you off.

“Let go of me, son of a bitch!” you cry. Suddenly, a body is pushing Jackson away from you, and then stands in front of you for protection. Jackson is touching his bloody lip with a snarl.

“Please, a privileged actor doesn’t want anything to do with your kind of trash,” he growls. You gulp back a whimper and find one of your hands moving up to clutch at the back of the man’s shirt. He doesn’t flinch as it bunches in your hand at the base of his back. At Jackson’s words, you realize why this man seems so familiar – he’s Sherlock! You have only seen the show once, so it hadn’t imprinted in your mind.

“I suggest you leave now,” the man says, his voice a bit threatening. Jackson stood straight, his fists clenched at his side, and stares the man straight in the eyes. They were the same height, but Jackson had a bit more weight on him.

“I need to discuss some things with my  _wife_ ,” Jackson says in the same kind of voice.

“I’m not your wife!” you exclaim. Jackson’s eyes shift to you, and you press your lips together at the menacing look in them. The stranger’s arm next to you raises a bit to push you protectively closer to his back.

“Paper doesn’t mean a thing, sweetheart. We made vows to each other, remember?” Jackson asked, his tone sickly sweet. You peak around the stranger to watch his face turn from a snarling viper to an innocent man. “That should mean something.”

Jackson took a step towards you, and the man pushes you fully behind him. You hear the wind rush as someone throws a punch, Jackson, and the stranger dodges it. You cover your gasp with both your hands when the stranger throws a direct hit to Jackson’s jaw. You hear a grunt from your ex-husband, and a growl from your protector.

“I’m going to the police,” Jackson growls, now laying on the ground, trying to push himself back up.

“Make sure to tell them I’m the one who did it,” the man calls back as Jackson stomps off around the trees, into the cleaner side of the park. You let out a giant whoosh of breath as your protector turns to you, making sure not to make any sudden movements. “Do you need… anything?”

“No,” you whisper back, your legs suddenly weakening. They give out and you fall on your behind in the tall grass. The man’s hands reach out to catch you, but you push them away as you cross your legs on the ground. You lean forward, your elbows on your knees and your head in your hands. “I can’t believe it got worse.”

“What’s your name?” the stranger says, crouching down next to you. You mumble your name, not looking at him. “Do you want to contact the authorities?” he asks softly. You shake your head, still in your hands, trying to keep a sob from coming out of your mouth. “Do you want me to take you home?” You nod.

He helps you up, and you keep your eyes down as he walks closely at your side, leading you through the abandoned area to a deserted parking lot, overgrown with weeds. You spot a lone gray car, sleek and new but not overly expensive. You slow down your pace so he walks slightly ahead of you and glance around the area. The only people who came near were the people on the other side of the alleyway walking on the sidewalk.

“I can call a cab if you want – no pressure,” the man says from the driver side door.

“It’s fine, just… it’s fine. Thank you,” you say, walking around to the passenger side door. You both get inside the car, buckle up, and you tell him where your small flat is. He starts to drive, pulling out of the parking lot and making his way to the main street.

“My name is Ben. If you didn’t know,” he comments as you stare quietly out the window. You turn to him and smile shyly.

“No, I didn’t know. I do know your face, though,” you admit, turning back to the window. The silence was thick, uncomfortable, and you just wanted to get home so you can hide safely. Ben keeps glancing at you with concerned looks. It makes you frown and you began to get irritated. “Stop looking at me with pity. I can handle this.”

“No! I’m not, I’m sure you can, I just – just… okay, I’m sorry, I won’t… yeah,” he stuttered. It was a silent ride after that, and when he pulled into the parking lot of the building, you unhook your seat built quickly. As you push the door open, his voice stops you. “If you need anything, please, call me.”

You see a pen and scrap of paper magically appear in his hands. You sigh, but feel obligated to take his number.

“Thank you. But I won’t need it,” you stuff it in your purse as you stand fully outside the car. You pause and then lean down to look at Ben. “Seriously, though, thank you. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t there.”

Without waiting for an answer, you shut the door and hurry into your building.

You don’t see it, but you feel Ben watching the building for a few more moments before he pulls away.


	2. Part Two

Two weeks later, Ben is just getting home from the first day of filming the third episode of Sherlock. Everyone had noticed his slight lack of concentration, but hadn’t said anything. Ben huffs to himself as he throws down his keys and wallet on the side table near his couch, and then kicks his shoes off next to the door.

Looking at the clock, he sees that it’s 2 AM, and is reminded that he has to get up by nine at the latest to go to meet a reporter for an interview about the new season. He groans, running both hands through his hair, still styled as Sherlock’s curls. He quickly locks the door behind him, makes his way to the bathroom connected to his bedroom, and stares at himself in the mirror.

“Why are you worried about her? You don’t know her,” he says to his reflection. His image raises in eyebrow mockingly.

“She’s a damsel in distress. She’s attractive. Take your pick. Find her,” it replies in his head.

“I can’t just show up at her doorstep. I don’t even know which flat she’s in. If she needed me, she would have called.”

“She’d never ask anyone for help,” the image pointed out.

“Shut up,” he growls at himself. He huffs again as he sheds his clothing and crawls into his comfortable bed. He curls up and does his best to clear his mind do sleep can take him. His alarm was set a few nights ago – no need to worry about that. He dozes off into a light sleep for a while, and when he starts to hit a deep sleep, his phone starts to vibrate violently on the nightstand next to his bed. Ben groans, keeping his eyes shut, and reaches out to grab the shaking phone. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes, and squints at the screen.

**_Did you really mean it when you said if I need anything to call you?_ **

It was signed with the girl’s name. Ben instantly sets up, adrenaline making him wake up quickly. Worrisome thoughts cloud his mind – is she hurt, was her ex-husband with her, why was she texting him this late?

 ** _Yes_** – B x

**_I need something._ **

**_What is it?_** – B x

**_A friend._ **

It only took a moment for Ben to reply.

 ** _Of course. Do you need me to come to you?_** – B x

**_Small coffeehouse down the street from my building._ **

**_I’ll be there in 20_** – B x

He dresses quickly, pulling on jeans, a blue polo shirt that was closest to his bed from the floor, and slips on flip flops as he grabbed his keys and wallet. As he walked down his steps towards his garage quickly, he runs a hand through his hair. He knows it looks a mess, but he doesn’t have time to worry about that at the moment. He absentmindedly picks up a black cap from the passenger seat of his car and puts it on his head.

He arrives a few minutes early, shuts his car off, and looked around the parking lot. There were two dark cars, and the lighted window showed that there were two customers in the café – it must be open 24 hours. A tired college-aged girl was manning the register, flipping through a magazine with boredom written all over her face. She yawns. Ben sees you pop into sight in front of the register, ordering something from the girl. He takes a breath and lets himself out of the car. Pulling his cap low, he walks in, relieved that the girl is busy mixing whatever drink you had bought.

You spot him from your spot in the far corner of the building. It is dimly lit, and it made Ben smile. You had thought about him when you picked that spot, he was sure of it. He nods to you and takes a seat, his back to the door. You stand up to get your drink, with Ben keeping his face away from the girl at the counter.

“She was reading an article about you and your girlfriend,” you murmur as you sit across from him. Ben presses his lips together and wrinkles his noise.

“I don’t have a girlfriend. Female friends, yes, but no girlfriend,” Ben replies, keeping his voice low. You raise an eyebrow as you pull off the cap of the cup and blow on the hot coffee you had ordered. Ben watches you for a moment, and you have a feeling he’s watching your lips. It makes you stiffen and keep your eyes downcast. “What do you need?” he asks, saying your name at the end with concern in his voice. His eyes moved from your mouth to your eyes as you peek up from under your lashes.

“He called my landlord today. Said that we were fighting, and he needed to talk to me to make it better. He was so nice, the landlord told him my flat number. I haven’t been in my flat for the last five hours.”

He looks a bit startled at your short story, but doesn’t say anything. His hands are on top of the table, clasped, and you keep your eyes on them as you sip your coffee slowly. They were strong hands, long fingers, and you knew that unlike Jackson’s hands, they would never hurt you. It made you wish things were different – maybe there may be a chance…

“Whoa…” you mutter to yourself.

“What did you say?”

“I said… Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” you cover, gulping anxiously. You move your eyes to your cup, fiddling with your nail on top of the table.

“It’s fine. I said I’d be here if you needed me.” Ben gestures toward your coffee, and you push it toward him.

“I don’t want anymore. Take it.”

“Thank you,” he replies, taking a few sugar packets from the basket on the table and dumping a few in. He stirs it with a stirring straw that was next to the packets before added, “How did you meet?”

“His father owned the trinket shop that my parent’s manage,” you say. “I had heard about him, and when we met two years ago I fell in love with in the first week of spending time with him.” You stare at your hands as the memories come over you. “He was charming, British, well-educated. After a year and a half of dating, of winning over my parents, he asked me to marry him. Instead of the big wedding our parents wanted, we eloped in Vegas. Our first night being husband and wife changed everything.”

Ben patiently listens as you tell your story. You look up into his eyes, thinking there would be knowing sympathy in them, but instead there was curiosity and care. You continue as you look back down.

“He only laid a hand on my once. I took a few minutes more than I should have in the bathroom before we went to bed, and he slapped me when I came out. After that, it was just words. Hateful, ugly words.” You shudder and clasp your hands tightly.

Ben clenches his jaw, willing himself to not interrupt, to not touch your hands, or to go find the bastard and teach him a lesson. He watches your face pale, and you take a deep breath.

“I told my parents after a few weeks. They didn’t believe me, and scolded me for being such a horrible wife. They said he was just teasing, he loved me and would never lay a hand on me. For the next few weeks after that, I was on my best behavior, quietly letting him berate me and lie to me about what he did when he went out. He never allowed me to leave the house, unless I was with him. He had money – there was no need for me to work, or do anything else.”

“How did you get out?” Ben asks, eyes completely on you.

“On our two month anniversary I left in the middle of the night. For some reason he had stayed out longer than usual – now I know he was with a girlfriend – packed a bag, and took one of his cars. I went to the police and they helped me. I was lucky that I knew one of the old officers. He convinced the others that I was telling the truth.”

“Verbal abuse is hard to prove – but with the old man’s help I finally got a restraining order. Because of his wealth and his family’s connections, he got away with community service, court-ordered therapy session, and a few other little things.”

“And now that he’s finished with his sentence, he’s free to do as he pleases. Why come find you?”

You look up at Ben, eyes locking.

“I’m his. He’s mentally ill. He takes what he wants, no matter what, and he wants me. In his eyes, I owe him my life for letting me be with him.”

“Ah,” is all Ben says. In his mind, he’s thinking how tragic the story is, and how much this woman needed his help. His eyes widen at the thought, and he gulps. “I’m glad you’re away from him now. You deserve better.”

You scoff.

“How do you know?” you ask. He furrows his brows as he looks at your face. He studies you, and you wait for him to answer.

“Your eyes show intelligence and compassion, your attitude shows your independence and loyalty, and your words show that you want and deserve more,” he answers after a moment. You feel yourself blush.

“That isn’t the only reason why I asked to meet you.”

“Why is that?” He glances over at the girl at the register, and she catches his look. Her eyes widen, and he groans softly. “She recognizes me.”

“My mother cornered me into meeting with her and Jackson to talk things through. I need back up.”

“Got it. Send me the information. I’ll make room for it in my schedule.” He stands up, pulls the hat low over his face.

“You agreed so fast!” you say curiously. “Why?”

“You need me. I like you. It works. Good night.”

He leaves quickly, and the girl glances at you while texting on her phone. Ben quickly enters his car, and sees you throw your cup into the trashcan next to the counter. The girl starts talking to you, obviously asking questions about who you were, and why you were with Ben in the middle of the night. Ben watches you stare at the girl, not answering, and then you turn your heel and leave. He can’t see which why you walk when you leave the café.

He drives home, and sees he can get a three hour nap in. As he is getting under his blankets, his phone vibrates. He sees the information about the lunch with your mother and Jackson. When his alarm goes off, he groggily sends a message to his PA about making room for the lunch later that afternoon.


	3. Part Three

You can’t believe that you agreed to this awkward and horrible situation. Your mother was sitting across from you, with Jackson as her side. Ben was seated next to you, with a hand on your knee for strength. Any other man’s hand on you would have made you dissolve into a panic attack, but it was different with the actor. He was actually very nice to you, and it relaxed you. Just what you needed at the moment.

“Go back home, darling. We can get everything back to the way it was,” your mother pushed with a smile meant to be sweet. The only thing you can see is the barely controlled anger in Jackson eyes.

“No, not back the way it was. Better. A lot better,” Jackson added with a smile. You just stare at him, putting your hand over Ben’s on your leg and squeezing. He squeezes back. He hadn’t said anything since coming in with you, but it was obvious he wanted to say a lot of things.

“I don’t want thing the way they were. I don’t want  _you_ ,” you said, glaring pointedly at Jackson. His jaw clenches, but he lets out a defeated sigh, putting on a show for your mother.

“I can’t make you do what you don’t want to do, love,” he replies.

“Oh, honey, things are different now –“

“Please, just leave me alone. Seriously. That’s all I want.” You stand up, followed by Ben, and walk out of the restaurant. You hear the other two people at the table follow you, and you grab Ben’s hand. Both of you turn as you round the corner into the parking lot and he pushes you slightly behind him.

“She asked you to leave her alone,” he growled at Jackson. You swallow loudly.

“I don’t understand why you won’t go home. Jackson is the best you’ll ever have – take what you can, sweetheart!”

You feel your chest clench, tears coming into your eyes, and fight like hell to keep them from spilling out. It wasn’t just Jackson who said hurtful things – your mother seemed to enjoy doing it as well. You squeeze Ben’s hand even tighter.

“Are you serious?” Ben stared angrily at the two of them. “Listen, and listen well. If either of you come near her, I will make sure you are arrested for stalking, among other things.” Your mother opens her mouth in outrage, but Ben sends a heated look to her and she shuts it quickly. “She will be staying at my place. Trust me, you can’t do anything to hurt her again. I  _will_  take every action against you if need be – I have the means to do it.”

There was a moment of complete silence, each person letting those words sink into them. You take a deep breath through your nose and out your mouth. Jackson gently pushes your both back a step, and takes the steps to be toe to toe with Ben.

“Are you sure you want her?”

“Fuck you.”

Jackson turns his head enough to send you a glance. You stare back, wide-eyed, wanting this to be all over.

“Don’t think too much into this. He feels sorry for you – you will never be at his level.” You feel the weight of his words sink into your stomach, and feel nauseated at the thought. Of course, he was right – Benedict Cumberbatch had better things to do, better people to see, than worry about her.

Just as those thoughts cross your mind, you crush them down mentally. Ben had shown you nothing but kindness and friendship. If he had better things to do, he would do them. Instead, though, he was here, with you, making time to make sure you were protected. Making sure he was there if you needed him.

Straightening up, you step around Ben and step up to Jackson. Your mother is watching, her face blank of any emotion. You wonder whose side she is on.

“Listen closely, Jackson Crate. I hate you. I loathe you. If you lay a hand on me, I won’t need to have someone for protection. You will be the one feeling dirty, less than a person. I’m not scared of you.”

You don’t see it, but Ben is watching you. His lips turn into a smile, proud of what he sees. It is in that moment that he realizes how much he wants to get to know you, keep you safe. Jackson sees the sentiment in his eyes, and frowns.

“I suppose there is nothing I can do,” he says with a surprising shrug and an easy step back. Ben and you both watch, confused, as he leads your mother around the corner to their vehicle. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, and your legs feel weak. The tears come without warning, your vision going blurry. You let out an unattractive sob and feel strong arms around you. You let Ben hold you, whispering words of encouragement and praise in your ear.

After long moments of weeping, you finally calm down, then pull back. He looks down at you, using his thumb to wipe away the last of your tears on your cheeks.

“Did you mean what you said? About me staying with you?”

“Only if you want to. I don’t want you to feel pressure.”

“Why? I’m a stranger – you don’t know me.”

“I know enough. You’re unlike any woman I’ve met.”

You don’t believe him, but are too emotionally exhausted to argue.

000000000000000000000000

A week passes quickly. You barely see Benedict, usually in the mornings as he rushes off to some engagement. You update your website regularly – it was a decently popular blog, selling off your writings that you’ve worked hard on. It’s not much, but enough to get by. Ben’s house is relatively modest, considering who and what he was. It still was the biggest home you’d ever stayed in, and that included Jackson’s place.

You are sitting in the kitchen, nibbling on some fruit with the television on in the background. Your ears perk up when the celebrity news show mentioned Benedict. Amused, you get up, leaving your things on the table and stand in front of the television. You freeze at what you see.

“Sherlock has a new houseguest! Sources say that his new girlfriend, who is clearly unknown and completely different from the beautiful woman he’s dated before, has moved in. They also say that they have only known each other for a short time – why so quick, Sherlock? People are saying that there may be a pregnancy involved – but we won’t know until he speaks up.”

“I am so sorry!”

You spin around and see Ben looking completely ashamed at what you just heard on the television. He has his Sherlock hair, but is wearing purple jeans, a blue button up shirt, and black shoes.

“Why are you sorry? It’s nothing. Really,” you answer, feeling yourself blush. “They are just surprised that I’m not like the other women you’ve been seen with.”

The words feel like ash in your mouth.

“You definitely are not,” he murmurs, opening the refrigerator and looking for something to munch on. You clench your teeth and look down at your bare feet. Unexpected tears pop into yours eyes at his words. As if he knows what you’re thinking, he closes the door and rushes over to you. “I didn’t mean it negatively! I meant it in a great, amazing, wonderful way.”

He takes your hands and stands in front of you. You tilt your head to look back at him, not knowing how to take his compliments still. Without thinking it through, you blurt out the first thing that pops into your head.

“Be my first.”

“What?” He looks down at you, confused. You gasp, pulling your hands from his, and cover your mouth in embarrassment. You can’t believe that you said that to him! “No, don’t be embarrassed. I did say I’d be there whenever you need me. What do you need?” He looks at you intently.

“I… um… “ you start, not sure how to answer that. You gulp and push through your uneasiness. “I want you to be the first person I have sex with.”

He blinks at you, surprised. The guilt and shame of being a virgin even after marriage weighs upon you, and you suddenly lose your nerve. You pull away quickly and rush up the stairs to your bedroom, closing the door behind you. You fling yourself on the bed with a loud, frustrated groan. What is happening to you? You don’t throw yourself at men like that!

You hear a knock, but don’t answer. He opens the door without you permission.

“I have to ask.”

“Okay,” you replied, keeping your back turned away from him as you lay on the bed.

“You were married for two months. Not even on your wedding night…?”

“I did say he only laid a hand on me once.”

The silence that follows lasts longer than you want it to. You feel anxiety all over your body, just wanting to crawl into a hole and hide. You hear Ben shut the door, and you feel your body relax.

“May I hold you?” You jump at the words, surprised that he hadn’t left. You answer with a sound, and he climbs in, slowly wrapping an arm around your waist. He doesn’t pull you close. He props his head up with his other arm.

“Ben, I… I don’t want you doing this because you feel you need to.”

“I do need to.” You stiffen. “No, not because of that.” He is keeping his distance, most likely because he knows it may cause you to jump. “I want to get to know you, the real you, the you that Jackson kept locked up, hidden away.”

“There really isn’t much to see.”

“I don’t believe that. At all.”

“You’ve known me for just over a week.”

“First impressions can give a lot of needed information.” You smile at that.

“You can move closer.”

It was like he is waiting for your permission. He pulls you slowly closer, with your back pressed against this front, his breath on your ear. Instead of being frightened, you feel more relaxed, more comfortable. You feel longing stirring in your body, and it almost scares you. Almost.

“I would never hurt you.”

“I know. That’s why I asked you to be my first. I trust you.”

“I won’t take that from you without it meaning anything,” he replies, his breath still on your ear. You frown.

“It’s just sex.”

“For some, but you deserve more than just that.”

“Oh.” You realize what he is saying. He can’t give you more than that. You swallow. “I’m sorry I asked.”

“I want to give you more. At least a chance at more.”


	4. FOUR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benedict tries to get close, but you push him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY IT'S BEEN FOREVER. Just emotion for this one, hopefully sexytime soon.

Benedict feels his body start to heat, aching to pull you closer, caress your skin, and show you how beautiful he thinks you are. He doesn’t seem to mind the fact that you’ve known each other for just over a week. His hips press against your behind, and you suck in a breath.

“If you want me to stop, tell me.”

You feel his nose nuzzling against your neck, just under your ear. He is pulling your body close, so there is no space. One of your hands sneak down to lay over his, which is placed on your stomach. The other is under your cheek, on the pillow. You feel him smile against your neck.

“Are you sure you want me?” you whisper. There is a tremble in your voice, as if waiting for him to change his mind. He chuckles, and the deep sound makes goosebumps appear all over your body.

“I am very sure,” he replies pressing himself against you once more.

Benedict concentrates on keeping his hands steady as he trails the hand on your stomach over to your hips, squeezing softly. The need to touch your skin is making his head dizzy. You slowly turn over onto your back, and he looks down at you, his arm over you and his hand on your hip. The other hand is still propping his head up. You gulp and put one hand under your cheek, again, this time facing him. Your other hand presses against his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles under the thin blue shirt.

He lips the corner of his lip up in a reassuring smile, and begins to slide his hand from your waist up under your shirt. He stops just under the edge, brushing his thumb against the skin.

“I can’t give you more than sex,” you say, more for your benefit than his. A small frown appears on his face, and he lowers his head to press his forehead against yours.

“That’s a lie, but I understand how it could be difficult.”

His eyes stare into yours, and you find yourself tilting your head just enough to brush your lips over his. He lets you take the lead, and your eyes flutter close as you move your mouth over his own lips. He returns the action, his hand squeezing your hip a bit harder.

Suddenly, panic clutches at your throat and you pull back with a gasp. Benedict looks confused as you turn and pull yourself out of the bed. You are breathing heavily. Benedict sits up, swallows, but stays silent.

“I don’t know you!” you cry. Benedict stands and walks in front of you. His hand reaches for your face, but you push it away. “What is it with me? Why can’t I just deal with the fact that we just won’t work!” You turn and start to pace. Benedict steps back.

“I’m sorry, I truly didn’t mean to push you.” He runs his hands through his dark curls. “I’m not going to apologize, though. You told me you wanted sex, you started this. I won’t push you, but you can’t act like the victim in this situation.”

You swing around with tears in yours eyes. As much as you didn’t want to face it, he was right. You had been playing the scared and abused victim. It was time to be a survivor. You wrap your arms around yourself and take a deep breath. Benedict backs to the doorway and steps out of the room. He places his hand on the doorknob.

“I can’t give you sex. I can give you more than that, but if you won’t take it, then I won’t even try to give it. I’m here if you need me, though. As a friend.”

He shuts the door.

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It’s been two months since you moved in with Benedict. You barely see him, but that’s how you like it. It’s easier to be alone than to deal with longing for someone you can’t have. He’s a great friend, though, and you appreciate all that he does for you. The entertainment news had been quiet lately, and for that you were grateful. You even got a job as a secretary at a local law office for extra income. Writer’s block has kept you from adding more to your blog the last few weeks.

It was the beginning of October before you saw Jackson again.

Making sure the door of the office was locked, you zip your leather coat to your neck and shove your hands into the pockets. The clicking of your heeled boots echo in the empty street. It was quiet, and the sun was setting. The taxi was stopped just in front of the office, and you smiled at the driver politely. He smiled back as you opened the door.

“I didn’t get to give you a birthday present.”

You freeze and stare into Jackson’s eyes. A smile was on his face, but his body was tight with anger. You swallow and look at the driver. He had turned to look at the road.

“Oh, Chester is a friend of mine. He’ll take you anywhere you need, after we talk.”

“I can walk,” you say, taking a step back and turning. You take a step on the concrete and feel a hand grab your elbow. You pull, but Jackson holds tightly.

“I just want to talk. I just want to make sure you hear what I need to say.”

You keep your lips tightly shut and stare at him.

“Your friend is gone to America for a few days, is that right?”

You swallow.

“Just to talk. I promise.” With his light tone, he lets go of your elbow and moves deeper into the taxi. He’s giving you space. You eye the seat across from him. Jackson says your name, almost timidly. You frown and shiver. “It’s cold. Get in and I’ll make sure you get home.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” you say, finally finding the courage to start marching away from the taxi. Jackson shuts the door and the taxi follows you slowly a few blocks. You stop and turn, and Jackson rolls down the window.

“Fine. Here. I got you this.”

He’s holding out an 8” by 10” box, wrapped in red and black paper. The bow is a blood red in the middle of the present. You eye it, and he shakes it. You grab it roughly and start marching again. To your relief, the taxi doesn’t follow you. A few blocks away, you’re shivering and hear a honk. He look to your left and see a sleek gray car pull up beside you.

“Why are you walking?” Benedict asks, rolling his window down. He eyes the box in your hand, and sees your pale face. “Let’s go home,” he murmurs soothingly. You nod silently and walk around to enter the car. As you buckle the seat belt, Benedict eyes the package cautiously. “You didn’t have to take this.”

“He wouldn’t leave me alone,” you say, staring out the window.

“You don’t have to open it.”

“I know.”

The ride is silent to your shared home.

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It’s late, past midnight, and you’re still awake. You sit in the sitting room, staring into the fire that you’ve kept burning for the last few hours. Benedict had gone out with friends, and had yet to get home. You are curled up on the couch, feeling yourself finally dozing off. You hear the door open and look up.

Benedict is rubbing the back of his neck and yawning. His newly cut hair is covered by a gray hat. He is wearing a gray t-shirt under a dark blue jumper with jeans and trainers. He doesn’t seem to see you as he pulls off the hat, tossing it to the side without watching where it landed. You smirk, and he finally sees you.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head and turn back to the fire. Benedict sits next to you, closer to the fire only by a few inches. He leans back on the couch, tilts his head back, and closes his eyes. He smells like cigarettes and his cologne. Not a horrible combination.

“I’m sorry.” You say. He opens one eye and looks at you. You keep your eyes on the fire. “I’m sorry I’ve been a horrible new friend and stuff.”

“I know it’s not intentional.”

“But it is,” you say, turning to him. You put your feet on the ground and move closer to him. Your side is pressed against his, and you turn toward him. “I’m being a bitch and doing my best to ignore you because I don’t want to be close to you.”

“It’s understandable,” he answers. You frown, and he sits straight, turning towards you. “You’ve gotten a little better.”

“Do you like me?”

“I wouldn’t have let you stay if I didn’t care for you.”

“I’m a mess.”

“Absolutely.”

“People aren’t talking about us anymore.”

“You barely leave the house, except for work.”

“It’s scary out there alone.”

He nods thoughtfully and leans back again. He stares at the ceiling, the fire flickering off his cheekbones in the dark room. You bite your lip as you mirror his position, your hands clasped on your stomach.

“Have you opened the box?”

“Nope.”

“Do you want to?”

“Nope.”

“Want to burn it?”

A rare smile pulls at your lips and you sit straight. He does the same and grins at you as you nod slowly. He chuckles, stands, and picks up the box that was tossed on the far coffee table. He holds it out to you, and you take it as you stand. You both move to the fire.

“What if it’s something expensive?”

“You could always sell it,” Benedict replies with a shrug. You sigh and look hard at the package.

Without a second thought, you toss it into the red and orange flames. You both watch as the flames engulf the box. Your hands are trembling at your side, but when Benedict reaches over and takes your hand, they stop. He squeezes your hand.

“Wait! What is that?” you cry suddenly, crouching down on your hands and knees close to the fire. Benedict does the same.

“A blanket.”

“My blanket. My grandmother gave to me.”

Tears spring to your eyes as the flames engulf the simple blue baby blanket. Benedict wraps his arms around you, pulling your close, as you start to cry.

“I’m so sorry. If I had known, I wouldn’t have suggested it.”

“I know, it’s not your fault,” you sob, holding his shirt tightly in your fists. He runs his hands soothingly through your hair. Jackson knew you’d destroy the box. He meant for this to happen! You sob for a while, and then pull away as the flames are dying down. Benedict wipes your tears away with hands.

“Stay with me tonight. I mean, lay with me. I don’t think you should be alone.”


	5. Part Five

Benedict stirs as the sun starts to slide into his room. He props his head on his hand and looks down at you, breathing slowly in your sleep. He frowns, pulls your body closer with his arm around your waist, and thinks about your relationship.

He understands why you’re so distant and fearful of being more than close acquaintances. The past three months have taken a toll on his feelings, though. The more time he spends with you, the more he wants to be the one to help you face those fears. The worry of how fragile you are pains him, plus the fact that you may not be able to handle the public eye makes him take a step back.

Benedict pulls away and stands. He quietly walks into the kitchen to start heating the water for tea. As the kettle is placed on the stove, he leans back against the counter. The cool tile under his bare feet was soothing, but his thin t-shirt and pajama trousers wasn’t fit for this cold October morning. Ben frowns as he realizes one of the living room windows is open, the thin curtains blowing in the breeze.

“What the hell…?” He murmurs, moving to close the window. He looks out and a flash goes off. He blinks, frowns, and realizes there are ten different people with cameras on the lawn. He quickly shuts the window as flashes start to impede his vision and pulls the curtains close tightly. He jogs to the bedroom and sees you looking out the window with wide eyes.

“What’s going on?”

“No idea. I should check my phone.”

“What did you do last night when you went out?” you smile softly, trying to lighten the mood. Benedict chuckles as he reaches for his mobile on the side table.

“Nothing bad, I think.”

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Benedict looks apologetically at you as you look through the pictures that were found in the gossip media around the world. It was photos of you speaking to Jackson last night, with the article claiming that you have been cheating on Benedict with Jackson. You frown, swallow, and hand the phone back to Benedict.

“It’s nothing big. As soon as they look up information on me, they’ll see that he’s my abusive ex-husband who’s doing his best to ruin my life.”

“It still isn’t anyone else’s business but ours,” Ben murmurs, his voice laced with anger. He purses his lips and dials. You frown, confused what he is doing. “I’m calling my publicist.”

“Ben, seriously, they’ll forget about me. I’m not that interesting.”

“We’re roommates. Everyone wants to know about you.” You open your mouth, but he turns and starts speaking flatly to his publicist.

“I don’t even know who I am,” you murmur, moving to the kitchen to get something to eat for breakfast.

Thirty minutes later, the kitchen is clean and you start gathering the laundry in both your rooms. Benedict had seemed bashful about letting you do his laundry, but you insisted. Now, here you are, loading up his dirty sweatpants, jeans, t-shirts, underwear, and socks into a big basket already filled with your own clothing.

You carry it past Benedict, who is still muttering into the phone at the kitchen counter. He stops you.

“I’m going to make a statement. Just the main points, nothing deep. You’re my friend, roommate, and your ex-husband is trouble.”

“If you think that’s best,” you nod. You feel relieved that he’s sticking up for you as you make your way into the laundry room. As you load up the washer, you take a deep breath. The man you’re staying with is protective, and it makes your heart flutter. Your body stiffens, and you start shoving the rest of the clothing in frantically.

There is no way that you are going to let yourself have romantic feelings toward Benedict Cumberbatch. He is high above you. Although you are feeling so much better about yourself, it’s still apparent to you that Ben is too much of a good thing to ruin it with unrequinted love.

“Hey, you alright?”

You jump and the lid slams shut. Ben is leaning against the doorway, hands in his jean pockets, his plain black t-shirt wrinkled. You swallow, turn the device on, and step away.

“Of course. Why?”

“You were letting it out on the poor clothes.”

“I’m frustrated is all.” You step past him and walk back to the kitchen.

“At what? The lawn is cleared, and the statement is out for everyone to see. I even contacted a private security firm to take you anywhere you need to go.”

Those words made you slam the glass you had just taken out of the cabinet down on the counter, making Ben jump. You whip around and glare at him.

“I am not a helpless little girl, Cumberbatch. I’ve been through a lot of shit. I don’t need your protection. I’m not going to end up like my mother – controlled by a man.”

“Hey, I’m trying to help you!” He growls in frustration as you stomp past him, your thirst forgotten. You seeth as you make your way to your bedroom. Ben follows. “I care about you, I don’t want you hurt! Why can’t you get that? I’m not trying to control you. I would never do that!”

“Why do you care about me? You don’t know me!” you cry, standing in your bedroom doorway. He stands his ground in front of you.

“You’ve lived here for almost three months. I can understand that I will never know what you’re dealing with, but you don’t have to push me away.”

“Why not?” you whisper, the energy in your body disappearing instantly. You slouch against the doorframe. “I’m so used to it just being me.”

“Now you have me,” Ben smiles, obviously feeling more at ease with your feelings now. He steps close, and wraps his arms round you. You place your cheek on his chest and wrap your arms around his waist. His cheek is at your temple.

“I like you way too much,” you murmur.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” he replies. You feel yourself blush, not realizing you had said it out loud. You squeeze his waist and he returns it with a squeeze of his own. You swallow, not sure what else to say. The sun is high in the sky, flooding your bedroom with cheery sunlight. You feel a rare smile coming over your features.

“What now?”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s going on with us? Are we friends? I don’t know anymore.”

“I mean what I said before.”

“What?” you pull back and look up at him. He smiles down at you, his blue-green eyes bright.

“I can’t give you just sex, like you wanted before, but I can give you that along with something more.”

You feel your body start to heat, and your breathing becomes slightly shallow. Ben notices and pulls you close again, slowly. You breathe in slowly as he lowers his head. Your eyelids flutter close as his soft lips touch yours. A brief closed-mouth kiss, but it scorches you. You feel him pull away before you open your eyes again.

“You look like you saw me naked for the first time instead of just a kiss.”

His grin makes you bust out laughing, and you pull him close, burying your face into Ben’s chest. You hear his chuckle as you feel his chest rumble beneath your cheek.

“I’m sorry – It’s just different than I… thought.”

“I know you’re a… well, a virgin, but surely you’ve been kissed before? You’re 27!”

“Of course I have!” you cry, face flushed, as you pull back. You untangle your arms from his and take a full step away from him. He puts his hands in his pockets, waiting. “My history with men isn’t very good. It’s nice to kiss someone like you.”

“This is usually the time where you slam the door. Figuratively and literally. Are you feeling okay?” He frowns.

“Yes. I… We should go out. Like, a date.” You grin, then realize what you said. “Oh, god, I mean if you want to! You haven’t said if you really want to date me. All you said was… Oh, god, I don’t know what I’m doing,” you moan, covering your face with your hands.

“If you’re ready, I’d love to go out on a date with you,” Ben said softly, pulling your hands away from your face. “And I did say I wanted to – remember?”

“Right! Right,” you repeat, keeping your eyes on both of your bare feet. “I don’t want to go where everyone can see us. Not yet, anyway. If we go again, I mean. Maybe – ”

“Perfect. Saturday night. Be ready at seven.”

“We live in the same house.”

“Makes it easier for me not to be late,” Ben chuckles, pulling you by your hands close to kiss you on the forehead. “You’re in control. If you want to move further, you need to take that step. I won’t.”

You swallow as he stars into your eyes until you nod. He pulls away.

“I have a few meetings this afternoon. I’ll be out of town for the next three days. I’ll make sure to introduce you to the security guys that will be around before I leave, okay?”

“Thank you,” you reply, watching him bounce down the hall. The 37-year-old man seems light on his feet, and it made you bit your lip in pleasure that it was you who did that. “You’ll get back the same day as our date!” you suddenly voice.

“A wonderful welcome home, I should say,” you hear him reply as he turns the corner out of sight. Your heart is beating wildly.

This is the beginning of something, and you’re looking forward to it. The fear of rejection and pain is evident in your mind, but you push it back, refusing to associate Ben with any of those ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for keeping up with this story! I didn't read what I had before, so if it seem so DIFFERENT, I'm so sorry! I should really read what I have so far to keep my head in the game. I'm writing another story AND editing an original story I want to publish eventually. SO many plots and characters, it's hard to keep them separate. My head is like a multifandom blog on tumblr.
> 
> please review and/or give me kudos!


	6. Part Six

The two bodyguards that Benedict hired to watch over you while he was gone turned out to be very nice. They both had families at home and talked about them happily whenever they were around you. The next two days went by quickly. The law firm you worked at was busy as usual, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

Today is your first official date with Benedict. He is still out of town. You look nervously at the clock on the wall of the kitchen. You finish making your salad for lunch and make your way to the bar stool near the counter. One of the guys hired to watch over you, Donald, is reading the local newspaper in the living room. The butterflies in your stomach made it hard to eat, but you forced yourself to put something in your stomach.

As you finish nibbling on a carrot, your mobile beeps. _Benedict._ You swallow, worried thoughts coming into your mind. _He’s canceling your date. He’s staying in New York from now on. He’s kicking you out._

 ** _I’ll be home in forty minutes. Would you like to have a late lunch instead of dinner?_** – B x

**_That sounds lovely. Where are we going?_ **

**_A friend is letting us use his restaurant before it opens for the dinner hours_**. – B x

**_That’s very nice of him._ **

You aren’t sure what else to say, so you wait for Ben to send you another message.

 ** _Would you like to meet him or would you rather not_**? – B x

**_If you want me to meet him, sure._ **

**_This is your way of asking if I want him to see us together._** \- B x

Donald is moving around the living room. You glance at him, and he sends you a quick smile as he looks out the window. There had been a few paparazzi on the lawn an hour ago, but it seems they just left. He returns to his paper and sits in the chair again. You feel bad about having negative thoughts about Benedict and your date tonight.

**_I’m sorry. I’m trying not to think that way. I do want to meet your friend._ **

**He’s a really nice guy, I promise. You trust me, right?** – B x

That’s the question, wasn’t it? Did you trust Benedict and his judgment of people?

**_Yes._ **

**_Be home soon, love._** – B x

You can’t help but smile and feel giddy. This was your first real date since before Jackson. Breathing deeply to calm your nerves, you clean up your small lunch. Donald watches you enter the living room. You sit on the couch and talk about his grandchildren for the next thirty minutes. He says he’s excited about the twins’ fifth birthday party this weekend.

Only five minutes later than he said, Benedict walks through the door. You force yourself to look at him, knowing things were changing from friendship to more now. He grins at you, thanks Donald for watching out for you, and drops his suitcase near the closed front door.

“Have a good weekend Donald,” you say, giving him a little wave. “Are you going to be my driver next week?”

“Of course,” the older man smiles, nodding. He leaves.

“How was your last few days?” Benedict asks, sitting close to you on the couch. You automatically tense, but the frown on Benedict’s face reminds you that you’re trying _not_ to do that around him. You make yourself smile widely and move closer to him. His frown turns into a small smile. His skin is slightly tanner than before, but his cheeks are rosy with the chilly outside air.

“Quiet,” you reply. Biting your lip, you place a hand on his knee. He raises an eyebrow and moves his arm around your shoulder, bringing you close. You lay your head on his chest as he lounges back on the couch. You breathe in his scent, minty and fresh. His simple gray shirt is under a dark blue cardigan. Faded jeans adorn his legs, and your hand tingle at the knowledge of his skin just underneath the denim under your hand.

“Good,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your forehead. You sit quietly for a few moments, then he nudges his shoulder. You look at him. “I missed you.”

“Oh,” you reply, words not forming in your head. You blink at him, his blue eyes crinkling at the side as he chuckles. You swallow. “I mean! I missed you, too. It’s odd not having you around now.”

“I like the sound of that,” he teases. He stays still, looking down at you, and you feel the urge to kiss him. His comment a few days ago repeat in your mind – he wants you to make the first move when it comes to being physical.

You lift your head just enough to brush your lips against his, your eyes closed. You’re surprised to feel Benedict’s body tremble slightly as opens his mouth to tease your lips with his tongue. You open your mouth in surprise, and his tongue slides inside. You tentatively touch your tongue to his, and he tilts his head for better access.

Your body feels tingly and aroused as you savor the kiss. Ben makes the kiss deeper, but then freezes. You open your eyes as he pulls away quickly. Your breathing is unsteady as you watch his face. It’s easy for you to see that he is struggling. His free hand is clenched in a fist on the leg your hand is not on. You notice the bulge in his jeans, and swallow heavily. You quickly move your eyes back to his.

“I’m sorry. I said I wouldn’t push you.” Ben starts to pull his away off your shoulders, but you press your body against his side to stop him.

“It’s okay! I’m just … getting used to it,” you smile shyly.

“Good,” he murmurs, leaning down again. He brushes your lips, and you close your eyes again, but open then as he pulls away again. This time he is grinning. “Time for lunch.”

“Wha-? Right, okay,” you say quickly, standing with speed. He follows.

“Just so you know,” he starts, patting his pockets to make sure his keys and wallet were in them. “If we didn’t have plans I would have continued our… moment.”

“That’s good to know,” you say with honesty. He gives a hearty laugh as he pulls you in for a tight hug. He kisses the top of your head and pulls away. He takes your hand as he leads you out the door and to his car. You are relieved that the photographers had left a while ago.

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Benedict can’t keep a silly grin off his face. The three days away from you had given him time to think about your relationship. He now realized that he was falling in love with you. He looks at you, and you smile back at him, not knowing his thoughts. In the past three days, he realized you were the perfect woman for him.

You arrive at the restaurant, a simple Italian diner, and go through the back door to stay out of the public eye. You’re greeted by a man the same age as Ben, only a bit shorter with pitch black short hair. He hugs Ben, exchanges greetings, then turns to you. You grab Benedict’s hand to keep the anxiety buried.

“Hello,” you say.

“Ah, you must be Benedict’s roommate!” He says your name, making sure it’s the right one. You feel more at ease as Benedict winks and pulls you close to his side. “Hm, more than I roommate, I see.” You blush. “I open for afternoon meals in two hours.”

“Thanks,” Benedict calls as the owner hurries away. He leads you to a square table near the kitchen door. He holds your chair and you sit down nervously. Benedict reminds himself silently that he needed to be slow and steady – not quick when it comes to your relationship.

“This looks like a great place.”

“It is. You’ll love it.”

The next hour passes quickly, with conversation and laughter. You feel yourself slowly getting back to your old self. Benedict makes sure to touch your hand as much as he could without it being too obvious, and it makes your heart flutter. You start to feel worthy of his attention.

When you see the owner with a man, you both start with surprise.

“What is he doing here?” Benedict frowns, standing. He walks over to his friend, who is chatting with Jackson. You watch from your spot at the table, but you don’t feel the fear you did before. Your chest swells with pride, knowing Jackson’s hold over you was loosening.

“He is my new investor, Ben. I’d like you to meet – ”

“We already met. This is the abusive ex-husband I told you about.”

Ben’s friend is silent, not sure what to do.

“This is nothing to do with her,” Jackson says with a nonchalant shrug. “I have been contemplating investing in this restaurant for the last three months. How was I to know you and the owner were friends?”

Jackson looks at you, and you stare at him with a blank face. You see his brow furrow, and realizes he notices your lack of reaction to him. It makes you even more proud, and you grin at him. He frowns and turns to the owner.

“I’ll come back tomorrow after Mr. Cumberbatch and his playdate is gone.”

Benedict’s hands fist at his sides and his jaw twitches as Jackson leaves. His friend swallows and apologizes, saying he had no idea they were the same person.

“It’s fine. You can do whatever you want with him, but when she and I are here, he is not to step foot in the restaurant. I’d appreciate it if you do as I ask because we’re friends.” The owner nods and goes back into the kitchen. Benedict hurries back to the table and sits. He takes your hands over the table and squeezes them. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you reply. His worried eyes make you smile to reassure him. “I’m doing well, aren’t I? I wasn’t scared of him just now.”

“That’s good. You have no reason to be afraid, especially when I’m here.”

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You leave through the back, hand in hand, and stroll to the car in the late afternoon. Suddenly, a flash goes off, and you both whirl toward the front corner of the building. A smiling man with a camera is flushing in embarrassment. Benedict frowns, but tries his best to be polite.

“I’d appreciate it if you would let us have a quiet walk to my vehicle.”

“Of course, I don’t want to bother you, but people have a lot of questions.”

“My personal life is not anyone elses business.” You both walk toward the car, and the man stays in step beside Benedict. He doesn’t take any more pictures, although keeps talking.

“I understand, really. I saw the horrible things the tabloids were saying about your friend. I wanted to get a direct statement from you.”

“My publicist sent one out to all the media connections we have.”

“I didn’t think you were the type to hide this kind of thing.”

Benedict stops and turns. You stay close to his side, facing the man. He looks expectantly at the both of you. You step forward.

“I’m sure you know about me… past. Everything is new to me. I need – we need – time to figure it out. Is that good enough?”

Benedict looks at you, surprised. The man’s eyes soften with sympathy.

“Yeah, I heard about what happened in your past. I’m sorry for that. Thank you for being honest. I think the world will calm down now.”

“I hope so,” Benedict mumbles, grabbing your hand and pulling you to the car. The man leaves, but you can tell Benedict isn’t happy as you drive back to your shared home.

“What?”

“They don’t need to know anything.”

“People will stop bothering us if we talk.”

“People shouldn’t bother us at all,” he growls, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

You shift to get as far away from Benedict as you can in the car. This was the first time that you’d seen him truly angry at you. He doesn’t notice your hands trembling with anxiety as you pull into the driveway.


End file.
